Mirror, Mirror On the Wall
by mickey
Summary: Draco answers a knock at the door to find himself face to face with his son that he has never met before. Explanations ensue. And it's not what anyone had expected to hear.


Mirror, Mirror On The Wall 

Draco answers a knock at the door to find himself face to face with his son that he has never met before. Explanations ensue.

Disclaimers: blah, blah not mine. Ex nihil.

I had this game I loved to play. I'd take one of those rolls- y'know the Japanese ones with rice, seaweed, and raw fish? And I'd toss it in the air and try to catch it in my mouth.

Not very creative. But I loved to play it. No other food would do. It had to be sushi. No fake fish either. The real stuff. With caviar.

I was in the middle of my sushi catching game when a knock came at the door. I wasn't used to visitors. So I caught the Philadelphia Roll in my mouth very professionally before getting up to answer it.

I opened the door to the cool mountain air that blew at me in the secluded area I was living. Far away from Tokyo. From the expansion of industries. To the hillsides that was dominated by rice farmers. No car dealerships. So secluded. So peaceful.

I opened the door to meet this air, but that's not what I found. I found a mirror instead. And I hated mirrors. They're only there to remind ourselves of who we are. And that's the one thing I'd like to forget.

I stared at this mirror and I wanted to scream- to smash it into pieces for disturbing, ruining even the peaceful air that had taken me so long to find. Then someone stepped in front of the mirror.

I coughed. "Granger?"

The young woman looked me over. "Malfoy?" She regarded me doubtfully. What had she expected? For me to be dressed in the whole Death Eater ensemble chanting Latin?

No, she was smarter than that.

"How can I help you?"

I watched her face darken. "I think you know." She motioned to the mirror in a rather idiotic manner.

And somehow I did know. I knew that the mirror, the…kid… had waltzed back into the mess of things. You really can't break mirrors- no matter how hard you try. They put themselves together and they find you. And bring bad luck. Track you down- to haunt you- remind you of all the mistakes you've made.

"I never did get a chance to explain-" I started.

"You left first," she interrupted, I flinched at her brusqueness. "So, invite me and-" she motioned to the mirror- "in and start explaining. I've got some time."

And so did I. I had a lot of time one my hands. I sent the mirror to the other room to watch some tv. It's been this way for the longest time. So I told her my side of the story. I should have told her years ago when she had confronted me about it, but…I couldn't. There wasn't enough time then.

But now…there seemed enough time to last a life time. So I told her. So I remembered.

I was never in love with Ginny Weasley. Let's get this straight. Never in love with her. I was attracted to her. Sure, I'll give you that.

But it was never love. Not that kind of love. The love where you're willing to grow old together. That's how I define love. You'd be willing to grow old with that person. People like to say to spend the rest of their lives together, but that's just a nicer way of saying growing old together.

I didn't want to grow old with Ginny. I was just attracted to her…to her body.

The feelings were reciprocated in a way. We needed each other at the time. It was my seventh year at Hogwarts and her sixth when it got more serious.

I needed someone to act as an escape from my confusion of Death Eaters, of right vs wrong, and that.

She needed someone to consider her an individual and not a baby sister of her multitudes of brothers.

We helped each other in that way. You may call it a fling, and I guess that's what it was. But we did help each other.

Hermione interrupted: "How did having sex with her help you?"

I glared at her. " Excuse me, but whose telling this story?" She motioned me to continue. I ignored her frowning expression.

Okay to put it bluntly- we had sex. So most of our relationship was based on sex. But before you start ranting on me on how irresponsible I was, let me explain it to you because I doubt Ginny did.

We had decided before that it wasn't serious- not in the lovey-dovey sort of way. No marriages, no kids, no flat, no crabgrass. We were too young for any of that anyway, but not even in the future. None of it. We agreed. Mutually.

I offered to help Ginny make some potions against pregnancy. She told me not to worry, that she had it under control.

She told me she knew exactly what she was doing. And I believed her. I was so convinced that I didn't doubt her for a second.

What went wrong, then? Everything. Absolutely everything.

It was mid-April of my seventh year when she told me she was pregnant.

You don't understand what it was like to have her look at me when she told me that. She wasn't ashamed, she wasn't worried that I'd be upset- she was convinced that I was going to love being a father, that we'd get married….

You see what she had done was led me to think she was using some sort of protection when she wasn't. She lied to me. She tricked me. She should have been Slytherin- I never thought a Weasley could be that cunning.

But I didn't love her. I couldn't. I told her. She got mad. She threatened me- said that she could use this against me- as rape. I'd be kicked out of Hogwarts less than 2 months before graduating. I could be sent to Azkaban from 3 years to as much as 30 years for it.

Ginny was one of those forceful types. She liked it her way. I'm the same way- and that's why we didn't get along very well.

Sure we were attracted to each other's bodies.

If marriage was all about sex than I would have married her. But it isn't. That's a part of it, but not the most important part. Really it should be more on the minor side. Or maybe my priorities are just out of line.

She used to tell me that 'we were perfectly adjusted to each other sexually.' And that was true. But you see I wasn't attracted to her mind.

I couldn't imagine what it would be like in the morning to wake-up and talk to her. I think the person you marry is the person you can talk to the best. We just didn't have worthwhile conversations.

I preferred politics. Debate, argue. She couldn't do that. It just didn't work. She couldn't make me think, our conversations were always typical, common, flat ones.

When she told me she was pregnant I did try to imagine being married to her. Tried to see what it would be like talking with each other over a morning's cup of coffee. But I couldn't. I wasn't in love with her. And it'd be worse if I pretended differently even for the baby's sake. A horrible marriage- a divorce. A kid shouldn't have to go through that when it could be stopped.

I asked if she wanted an abortion. I've always been one for pro-choice. She was infuriated that I'd even think about killing her beloved baby. She didn't listen to me when I tried to explain that her 'baby' was just a bunch of cells now. Probably not even bigger than her thumbnail.

She never listened to me. It must be a redhead thing. I'm certain.

But what could I do? I was stuck- I was going to be a father and the mother was a girl I could hardly stand to be around. I couldn't marry her, and when it got out people would insist because it would be the proper thing to do since they'd think it was my fault.

It's always the guys' fault. That's what everyone likes to believe. But that's not true. It wasn't my fault. My only fault was trusting her, trusting that she wouldn't get caught in a delusion that there was something beyond sexual attraction between us. She made a mistake thinking that it was love. It was never love. She just realized that too late.

I had no where to go. My father would disown me when the news got out- Potter and the Weasel would probably ring my neck with their bare hands.

Fatherhood was never made for people like me. I don't have enough faith in people, so I wouldn't enjoy bringing in more life into this owrld. I don't see the joy, the beauty, nor the 'miracle' of it. No, it's not a guy thing.

It's a Draco Malfoy thing.

No, no…it's not like my father abused me. He didn't. He was a regal father. Very picturesque and I admired him for that. I did.

Ginny told McGonagall a couple weeks later. She confronted me about it. Enraged, she was that a Headboy would act so indecently. She didn't believe me when I tried to explain what happened- how Ginny tricked me into having the baby. I'm sure Ginny never told anyone the truth about that.

She told me I was going to be a proper father that I would marry her as soon as I graduated. I couldn't think of a worst sentence. She was preparing to send owls away that day. Do you remember? It was late April…no, early May.

I decided then that I was going to leave.

Hogwarts.

My family.

The wizarding world.

I was sick of it. My mother had this bank account for me and I cashed all the money out of it and got it exchanged for pounds. I decided to head out for Africa. Some where in the Congo where they'd have trouble tracking me down.

That night I finished packing…yes you remember this. Our Head Boy/Head Girl quarters. You confronted me about it right before I ran off. It's funny how I remember it so clearly….."

I stepped from my bedroom to the small common room I shared with Granger, bag in hand. It must've been a little past midnight. I looked up and Granger was there, arms folded, lips pressed sternly at me. Her hair was in a messy bun and she was wearing a flimsy white night-gown that didn't suit her.

"Malfoy…"

"Hey, it's my memory and I'll remember it like I want to. And for the record you were wearing this very flimsy night-gown. If you call it that."

So Granger was standing before me with this flimsy whitegown.

The entire year that we'd been sharing that room I'd never seen her in her nighttime attire. I guess it was because I was too busy with Ginny.

It's odd, because that night- at the moment was the first time I was attracted to her. To her body I mean.

Hermione choked. "What?" I just smirked at her.

I'll admit it. I'm not ashamed. I had never thought of Hermione Granger in a sexual way before.

"Well," she said.

"Yes, Granger, is something the matter?"

"McGonagall told me what you and Ginny-"

"-are being sentenced to getting married?" I snapped.

"No-" Her face turned this dark crimson. "So are you just going to run away like a scared little puppy?"

"It beats the alternative." I snapped.

"Really? Thought you liked Ginny more than that."

"Oh, I do. I just can't stand her in a marriage sort of way."

"Oh?" she shifted uncomfortably. Funny how uncomfortable Hermione Granger was when I should have been the one feeling out of place.

"It just wouldn't work out- and this isn't about my father or anything- it just wouldn't work. Believe me. Not with Ginny." I picked up my suitcase and I was ready to leave .

Then she had the nerve to ask: "What kind of person would it work with?"

"Er…I don't know."

'I stepped closer to Hermione, putting my suitcase down.

She stared at me in the most disbelieving manner. And at that moment the only person I thought that it could work with was with her. That there might be a possibility that I'd want to grow old with her. Even though we'd argue, just because she was interesting, an individual. Sure she had her faults. Stuck-up, loud-mouthed, bossy, prudish, and a brainiac. But who didn't?

I kissed her. A chaste kiss on the lips.

"I remember that," stated Hermione giving me this look. "You just kissed me out of nowhere and I was so stunned and then-"

"-And then I left," I continued for her. "Turned around walked out the door, snuck out, caught the Knight Bus to an airport. Flew to Congo that morning. Got there in the early afternoon.

Haven't looked back since. I've been around the world- living off my savings account- It is big. And still is. I got into the Muggle way of life. People think it's so horrible, that it's a horrible fate to be forced to live it, but I like it better than the wizarding one.

Even if Muggles are ignorant. It's not their fault. It's ours. And I liked the Muggle life- the way they do everything themselves. Their independence. Their ability to struggle- not the way wizards or witches do. I learned to respect them for that.

While I was traveling I learned how to cook, I learned so much. How to play the guitar. How to wash dishes. To do laundry. To make my own bed. Stupid things you never learn in Hogwarts. I got into acting. And that's what I've been doing. Been part of some local plays. Sure it doesn't pay much, but I don't need the money. I never wanted the money anyway. Never.

So here I am in Japan. I've been here for close to four months. I like it here. I want to stay here- there's this local English Speaking community. I've got a part as Pip in a Mid-Summer's Night Dream. It's fun- relaxing even.

And that's my story. That's why I dropped out of Hogwarts less than a month away from graduating. It's too bad. Worked so hard and got nothing out for it. I think I'm the second Head Boy in history to drop out. The first one happened a couple decades ago."

"Yes," interrupted Hermione. "A boy didn't graduate because his Muggle father was killed by a wizard. An Auror. It was an accident. He got angry. And decided that he didn't want to be a wizard when the Ministry had to change the memories of many of his father's relatives, thinking he'd been killed in a biking accident.

He hated the fact that the Auror got away with manslaughter. Even if it was an accident. Now his father died like a fool- it appeared his own negligence killed him. The boy hated that- and didn't want to be part of a world that went to such lengths to-"

"lie to people?" I offered. Hermione looked away, shrugging.

I nodded. "Thomas Redmond." I remembered. The boy had dropped out in February, hating the wizarding world. That was in one of the footnotes of Hogwarts, A History. No one liked to remember that. It was a disgrace for the wizarding world that a respected Auror would get away with manslaughter. He hadn't been punished. Aurors never were. To them Muggle lives weren't worth that much.

Hermione sat down in the chair next to me.

"You're right, Ginny never told me this." She said solemnly.

"I'm not surprised," I stated. "So, what happened? I haven't' heard from the wizarding world since I've left."

"Oh," Hermione looked down at her hands folded in her lap. "Well Ginny had to drop out early in her seventh year to have the baby and-" she paused to glance up to observe my face carefully. "-Harry married her."

"Potter?"

"Do you know any other Harrys?"

I got up to turn off the boiling kettle. "Would you like some tea?" Hermione shook her head. I poured her a cup anyway and one for myself too. The mirror didn't get any since it was in the other room, thankfully.

"So did Potter marry Ginny as a favor to Weasley or did he really love her?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. It happened kind of fast." She paused to gulp down the tea she hadn't even wanted. "In the beginning I didn't think it was love, but-" she glanced up at me.

"Didn't you hear any of it? Don't you know?" she asked.

"Know what? Look, Granger, I haven't kept in touch with the wizarding world at all. My father disowned me, I can't show my face at the Ministry, or with the Death Eaters…neither side'll have me. Just because Ginny-"

"Malfoy…" she began than stopped. Her expression was pained. And it terrified me.

"Why are you here? Does it take ten years to come knocking on my door? Have you been looking for me that long? Is this about child support? I sent Ginny money, but she sent it back just like I expected-"

She shook her head with her massive brown bushy hair. "No, no…it's not like that. Ginny was always too proud to take the money. Just like Harry." Hermione sighed, leaning back against the chair. "During the birth. There were some pregnancy complications."

I raised an eyebrow. "Complications?"

"Yes…I mean the baby boy was healthy, but Ginny…she couldn't bear children again."

The mirror walked in asking if he could have some tea.

And suddenly it all made sense. He was my mirror image. From silver blond strands to the tips of his toes. My light skin, my nose, my voice. Everything.

Potter was stuck to have a son that was the clone of his most hated enemy. Oh, the irony.

"Tea…sure." I poured some for him, watching him carefully. He tapped his left foot impatiently until I handed him a cup, then he downed the liquid in a rapid gulping motion.

Hermione seemed to be struggling with something. I could tell. There was more. Why had she brought him here? To me? Sure, I was the kid's father, but…

"Would you like to watch a movie?" He nodded and I showed him into the den where I settled him in with some Japanese Animation of DragonBall Z.

I stomped back into the kitchen. "Granger, what the hell is going on? As much as this story of Potter and Ginny is nice to hear why'd you bring him hear? Where's Potter and Ginny?"

She stood up quickly, to busy herself. Her eyes were cast to the floor as she walked towards the sink. Her voice was shaky and uncertain as she told me the truth. Told me what I never wanted to hear.

"They're dead. Harry defeated Voldemort years ago, but a month ago some remaining Death Eaters stormed their house and killed them. It took everyone by complete surprise; we thought all the Death Eaters were dead or in prison." She said this all in one breath.

Hermione looked up at me then. I hoped to God those weren't tears in her eyes, and I hoped that this conversation wasn't going the way I thought it was…

"Draco, he's got nowhere to go."

It was. Goddamn.

"Harry's got no family to take care of him. Molly and Arthur Weasley are too old to deal with more children, Bill's work is too strenuous at Gringotts, Charlie's too dangerous, Percy hates kids, the twins have their joke shop, their own families, and Ron can't even look at him."

I slumped down on my chair, realization dawning on me. Potter and Ginny were dead. And their son…or

my son was being given to me. I couldn't take fatherhood. Couldn't Granger see that I wasn't ready for this, that I'd never be ready?

"Granger, what about you?"

"Me- Malfoy, I'm hardly a blood relative and with work-"

"Work? Everyone is too busy to take care of him, is that it?" I snapped.

"Hey, he isn't exactly our responsibility, is he? I mean you are his father!"

"Does he know that? Or is he completely convinced that he's the offspring of the almighty Harry Potter?"

"Only you, Draco, could be jealous of a dead person."

"Shut-up."

"He knows you're his father. He knows almost everything. Draco-"

I glared at Hermione. "-did you think I asked for him? That I wanted a kid? I didn't. I don't care if he has my blood or-"

"Well what exactly do you plan to do with your life? Just lie around taking up acting jobs? Taking care of him wouldn't be as awful. He's 9. He's not a young child anymore. And he can go to Hogwarts soon."

"What's his name?"

"Lance."

Lance. Even the name was awful.

"Ginny named my son after a goddamn member of a boy's band?!"

"No, after Lancelot in King Arthur's Court because…well."

Oh. Well that did make sense. Ha. I get it, Gin. Very clever. Bravo.

"Lance." I spoke the mirror's name outloud for the first time. It sounded strange, and rolled off my tongue with much unease.

However, I said it too loud.

"Yes?" The mirror poked his face into the kitchen. Oh, god, that face. It was the face of a ghost- of my past.

"Did you call me?"

Of what was.

"Um…"

And what never could be.

I looked from Hermione Granger, her face distressed and tired to my own reflection. We all need mirrors to remind ourselves who we are…don't we?

"We haven't been formally introduced. I'm Draco Malfoy."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "I know you already. There isn't much need for introductions." His voice was short and abrupt. And so goddamn familiar.

I bit my lip.

"Hermione, can we go now?"

The boy looked towards the woman. She turned away not wanting to see his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Suddenly, realization dawned on him. He knew why she had brought him here to me. He looked at me with disgust before running out of the room.

"I won't!" He screamed. "Not with him! Never with him!"

Hermione stared at his back helplessly. She started after him. "Look I can get him to calm down, he just needs-"

I shook my head and followed the boy's screams through the house to the backyard. He had collapsed in hysterics by a tree. His shoulders were shaking with his sobs. He heard me approach.

"Hermi-"

He stopped when he realized it was me. He watched me coldly as I sat down next to him, not caring about the grass stains on my khakis. I had stopped caring a long time ago. I could tell he was surprised by that.

"You're not my father." His voice was firm and cold. Like his demeanor.

"I know. I don't ever want to be."

If he was surprised he said nothing.

"My parents told me you were a horrible person."

"It's good that you listened to your parents." I paused smirking down at him. "You were a good boy, weren't you? Always listening to Mommy and Daddy's orders?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but was stunned to silence. He was trying to upset me, hurt me, but I knew the game far too well.

I knew there was something he wanted to say. Some secret that Hermione didn't know of- that even Potter and Ginny had not heard.

"I was good-" He began cautiously.

"You were?" I knew I was mocking him, but I knew myself too well to underestimate him.

I could tell what he probably was like as toddler. Not the sweet, angel face.

He was whiny and fussy. He had an almost girlish side to him. He didn't like his food on his plate mixed up. They had to be separate. He hated onions, and would make his mother pick them out of his food. He liked to be in the center of attention. Bragging, exaggerating, even as a four year old streaking through his parents dinner party. He probably argued a lot, and stubbornly. Felt these inborn prejudices against everything. He was a nightmare.

"I-" he paused to give me a sideways glance. He knew I knew.

"I think they hated me."

Now that wasn't exactly the answer I had expected.

"What?" I studied him. A nine year old orphan. Well almost.

"They hated me. They used to say things sometimes…my father would sometimes yell at me he said that I am just like you and I would turn out the same way. He hated me the most when I upset him. He thought that meant I was going to be like you."

Stubborn tears were forming in his eyes. "I know they loved me too. I know even if they didn't say it that much." He turned towards me, suddenly. "Did Hermione tell you what my father did? When the Death Eaters attacked?"

I watched the boy with fascination.

"He saved my life. He took the Avada Kedarva that was meant for me. He dived in front of me, screaming for me to run to take his old broom and fly away. I did. He told me not to look back."

"I'm sorry that I hurt him…I didn't mean to…I never wanted him to hate me. I'm sorry…I killed him…I did….it was my fault…it was always my fault."

I reached very carefully to touch his silver-blonde hair. I wanted to tell him the truth, which was everything had been my fault. I had been too chicken of commitment. Too frightened of fatherhood. Too angry at Ginny. Too proud to be brought down to a Gryffindor level.

"I know you hate me too- I heard what you said to Hermione."

"I don't hate you." As I said it I tried to convince myself of its truth.

"You don't want me here."

"Do you want to be here?"

He sniffed, looking out to the mountains. "I want to go home."

"Back to England you mean."

He shook his head. "No, I want to go home. It doesn't matter where. I don't care."

The mirror sat there, trying to hide his teary eyes, sniffling miserably, wanting so much to appear stronger than he was. God, how I knew the game so well.

Home. I wondered what home was. Hogwarts? That cold Malfoy Manor? And now what was it to me? This little cottage? Living alone, all by myself.

The mirror wanted to go home, and my heart started to ache. I found myself wanting to go there only I had no idea where it was. Or even if I ever had had one.

I wondered if this is how Potter had ever felt like. As an orphaned boy with muggle relatives who despised him. With only a school as his sanctuary. It makes you feel so desperate, so alone- and yet all the while, you started to notice things you never did before.

Home, how much I wanted to go there. So much it made me lean forward, to touch his hair, the very strands that sat upon my head, and to speak to him softer than I've probably spoken to any person in my life:

"You know what, kid, there's something I need to tell you. Some secret about life that I just discovered."

He looked up at me, intrigued.

"What?"

I stood up, my hand extending to the far off mountains. "I thought for the longest time that I was a free spirit- drifting along from place to place- without a care in the world. Independent from my past from my mistakes."

I paused to think at the years I had spent wandering. "I was free. I would never be tied down by people. I was afraid of being locked in a cage. So, I ran."

I paused. Hermione was at the door, watching and listening. "But you see, I didn't realize that I had locked myself in my own cage. And hid the key from myself. When I knew your mother I had thought that people should never belong to each other. So, I left."

I knelt down to him, speaking slowly as if I were speaking to myself. And it almost felt like I was, with the mirror's rapt expression.

"People belong to each other. They don't hold each other back, tie them down with a relationship. They're still free."

I touched his shoulder gently as if he might break. I closed my eyes a moment before continuing. "You and me, we might not like each other very much today. And it might seem that way tomorrow. Or even the day after. And even for a long time. But you know what? We belong to each other."

Was Hermione crying? Was Lance really hugging me? Was my life suddenly going to change? Was my son back in my life? Well he had really never been in my life to begin with.

Walking backing into the house, I thought to myself. Where was I going to go from here? Back to England? Hopefully never. The country was dreary and overcrowded. And who would be with me? Hermione? Lance?

I had a son once. But I let him get away. He doesn't have to now think of me as his father. I could just be a friend to him. Someone to talk to. Someone who can understand. Someone to belong to.

Hermione was studying us. What were we to her? Two people who had thought that life had passed them by with nothing left to live for, and suddenly they were the brightest center of this quiet village, of this foreign country, and of this world.

How the winds change suddenly, like the air was suddenly muddled with heated even dangerous breath of a dragon.

I went inside and sat down with Hermione and Lance.

I leaned back against the chair, shooting a sideways glance at him. Poor Potter. It must have been hell for him to wake up every morning knowing that his son was not biologically his, but rather the replica of a person he had loathed since before he could remember.

Sighing, I watched him. There was no more Potter blood left except the little bit that was lost to muggles. There was no one left to carry on his legacy: green eyes and untidy black hair, an interesting mixture, childish, but interesting nevertheless. I spoke to Granger, my eyes not leaving my son.

"Somehow I had always expected that Potter would have lots of kids, with the same green eyes and that awful hair and that they'd all get into accidents and have little scars on their foreheads. I guess I was wrong."

She nodded sadly. "There isn't anyone to carry on with his blood, he had no children, although Ginny tried to convince him that he should with genetic technology…test tube babies and such. He refused. He always had a little too much pride, but there's no one left…he's dead without even a flicker of a shadow to remind us that he once existed."

I glanced up and my eyes landed on him. My replica, my mirror image, hell he could have been my clone…except for those eyes. They were too bright, they were Ginny's.

Suddenly, he turned to gaze out the window, at the sun that was setting behind the high peaked mountains of Japan. It might have been the rays of sunlight filtering in through the glass door, but I swore I saw a glimpse of color, a flicker of unmistakable pigment.

It was like I could see the lush forest shining in his eyes, like one of the Slytherin's colors was gleaming so magnificently for just a moment. And then it was gone, but somehow I knew it was still there…green. I wondered if it was an optical illusion

I grinned. Maybe Hermione was wrong; maybe he did have a bit of Potter in him. Because…after all…doesn't everyone?

La Fin

I feel like this story is missing something. So I'd really appreciate comments. I wrote it literally years ago. And decided to just post it. I had always wanted to expand the idea of potter having to raise dracos kid, but never did. Would love to write a story along that line, so if u've heard of any lemme know.

Toddles.


End file.
